


Second Lives

by seaofolives



Series: Baze & Chirrut Spring Collection [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Everybody Lives, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Post-Rogue One, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 09:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: A visitor from the past forces Baze and Chirrut to make a decision about their future in the Alliance.





	Second Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Contains possible spoilers of Greg Rucka's _Guardians of the Whills_ for those who haven't read it yet. Written for the prompt _reunion_ to be collated in a series of spring prompts called the _Baze & Chirrut Spring Collection_.

It was no longer the first time that he had ever woken up in that strange room, but every time he does, it always felt like it. The hum was different—it was always the first thing he noticed before he even opened his eyes. It was too quiet, too…modulated and even and impenetrable—in that no other sound beyond the room could break through its transparent barrier. And then there was the humidity within, the _smell_ of it—metallic, sterile. The place was surrounded by wild flora, each species with their own kind of fragrance and not a single one of those could ever be found present in the room.

But of all these things, it was the _fabric_ that always cracked his eyes open. It had been days since he’d first been put in a shift but he could never seem to get used to it. It was too…light, drafty and too short besides. And the mattress was too soft in the middle and the blanket was too rough and _clean_.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful, he would tell the Force every single time as he stared up into nothingness, but it was all so different from the life he knew of Jedha. A life of poverty, of pain, of suffering and hunger. But Jedha was Jedha.

And this was not Jedha.

This was how Chirrut Imwe had always started his days since the Battle of Scarif: with observations, criticisms, and then the spiraling thoughts of what once was. It was like a version of his usual morning rituals for the infirm—which always made him feel worse so he would turn his attention heroically to the physical room around him. Sometimes, there might be a hand laid protectively on top of his but this morning, there was none. Sometimes, it might take on the form of a pair of watchful eyes but Chirrut can tell that this Guardian’s guardian wasn’t around to do just that at this time.

What there was, instead, was a bright spot along his peripheral, like a kyber crystal catching the morning sun. That was a pleasant surprise, and that was strong enough to banish his dark thoughts, like cobwebs melting at the touch of firelight.

He’d caught her _just_ when she’d laid down a tray on his nightstand, asking her, “Why do you fuss over an old man, Jyn Erso?” He felt Jyn stop and turn to him like a whip, the instincts of a woman who’d been living— _surviving_ by the skin of her teeth for too long. He should feel sorry, he thought, for startling her. He thought he should have known better but therein lied the problem: he hardly knew her beyond her father, the rebellion, and the kyber crystal she wore next to her heart, as rich with the Force as when he had first sensed it.

He could hear it shifting under the many layers of her clothes when she asked him in return, “Why do you always like saying my whole name?” A true fighter, she would not easily yield that she was caught in surprise. Her tone of voice told him she was on her guard, ready for whatever other party tricks this old Guardian—who’d once tried to rip her off in the streets of NiJedha—had in store for her.

“I just thought it’s about time I started getting used to it. What day is it? Is it not yet a household name?” She made a noise that sounded like a soft snarl and a soft snort at once, and he grinned. “Do you not like it? It is the name of a hero.” It was the name of her father—a man who was once seen as a vicious criminal by the Alliance, until his sacrifice had cast him in an entirely new light. Stark white and glittering gold. 

In his absence, Jyn had become the recipient of his praises and honors, and he knew she knew this was partly what he meant. He could tell it in the silence that followed, that heartbeat of hesitation.

“Still makes him dead,” she said, moving a few things around on his nightstand so she could push in the tea service. Chirrut could feel the heat of its gentle steam, smell something spicy, minty and flowery wafting from its direction. 

His smile faltered a little. Jyn may now be a hero, a beacon of light not only for the Alliance but for the entirety of the rebellion scattered throughout the galaxy, but she was still a child. Even though she’d sustained enough losses to fill up an entire lifetime.

“Still makes him proud,” he said to her, for what it was worth.

He could smell something vaguely sweet and soft when she leaned towards him, the same flavor of shampoo they had all been issued after they were debriefed and ushered into their respective wards—and that, too, was something he was yet to get used to. Mostly because he preferred the natural scent of Baze’s hair, and now he missed it. He felt Jyn’s careful fingers on his shoulder and his elbow, the parts of his arm that was not covered by the brace.

“Your arm’s all set,” Jyn commented, apparently too occupied by his welfare to have heard what he said about her father. Chirrut allowed it of her. “You’ll be diving in the bacta tank in no time.”

“Head first or like a ball?”

“Depends on which side of the Force you want to come out of.”

That made Chirrut laugh, a hearty bark that would have caused him all the pain in the planet if Jyn had made the joke on their escape flight out of Scarif, assuming any of them had been in the mood for one. He knew from Baze’s and Bodhi’s stories that he and Cassian had been the worst off of the five of them who escaped. He had barely survived an explosion that threw him to the ground face first. The captain had fallen several feet and was in and out of consciousness. Both of them showed serious signs of blood loss.

He hadn’t seen him since they landed on Yavin 4. Chirrut wanted to ask Jyn about him when the door slid open, and his head turned to his new visitors, like iron drawn to the poles of a magnet. One of them, the opposite pole that attracted him as it were, he knew by heart and that was enough to cheer him up. But the one he came with…there was something familiar, and something different about them altogether. 

“Looks like you got a visitor,” Jyn said, rising. “Lucky you.”

“Help me up,” Chirrut said, stretching out his better arm. He heard Baze’s urgent, heavy limping stride clear half the room in no time but Jyn stopped it when she muttered, “I’ve got it,” and went around the bed to come to his left side. He could not yet be allowed to move on his own too much. When Jyn was within reach, he rested his arm over the back of her shoulders so she could pull him upright. Baze came in this time to raise the bed, punching in commands and fixing the pillows to support Chirrut’s back when she let him go carefully. Chirrut thanked Jyn.

Jyn slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, matching his grip nearly strength to strength. 

She let go and so did he. He wore a smile on his face as she straightened. “I’ll leave you three to catch up, then,” she said in her characteristic disaffected manner. 

“Thank you, little sister,” Baze said to her, and that painted Chirrut’s smile ever brighter. It had been a long time since Baze had someone he could call his _little sister_. The last one had been Kaya Giim—and it had been a long time since. 

The door opened and shut.

“Now, who have you brought with you this time, Baze?” Chirrut asked him even when the third presence in the room had started towards him. That familiar and not-so-familiar presence who seemed, somehow, to belong to his past. He knew it not only from how this visitor felt in the Force, but also because Baze had stepped away from him, making way for this visitor to come to him. He held out his left hand for an introduction, and felt the soft kisses of suctions, like flower petals, take hold of it. And then, he knew.

Even before he brought himself closer to his old friend, even before his old friend brought his left hand to his round face, let his fingers stroke his scales, he knew. He remembered his light, and his weightlessness in his arms when he’d once carried him out to safety. He knew this because he had known him all his life—or wished he could say that. That all changed when the Empire came to Jedha, and he had to escape it.

“The Force is with me,” the young sentient said, “and I am one with the Force.”

“And I fear nothing,” Chirrut smiled happily, “for all is as the Force wills it.” And what a joy it was, that the Force had willed for them to meet again after what seemed like a decade. “It has been a long time, Althin.”

The rodian choked and began to cry then. He was now a young man, with a voice no longer like the child’s that Chirrut had put on the ship leaving Jedha. It was confident and handsome, even when it said, “I’m so sorry, Master Imwe, I should have come!”

Smiling still, Chirrut’s brows furrowed slightly.

“If I only knew that you and Master Malbus had gone with the crew to Scarif…”

And then he knew. And the smile weighed heavily on Chirrut’s face.

“I saw Captain Andor looking for volunteers, but I’m not yet a full-fledged pilot so I didn’t go, even though I wanted to. I didn’t want to put the mission at risk. But if I’d known that you were there…”

“Hush now, little one, there is no need for tears,” Chirrut said softly. It didn’t matter to him that Althin was no longer so little as before. In his mind, he was still that sweet young boy he had carried in his arms. “We are alive. We are safe.” Even so, Althin sniffled. “Frankly, I didn’t know I was part of the crew either until I was lying down, face first on the dirt.” Baze laughed, a monstrous bellow of good cheer, and so did Althin although his was a much shier version of it. Chirrut smiled. It was a start and he would take it. “But that is the will of the Force. And so is this.”

“I was praying very hard when I heard what happened to you,” the young rodian shared. “But you look well now, Master Imwe. Master Malbus,” he threw his voice to the man who might have stood next to Chirrut’s legs. “You looked after him.”

“I protected him,” Baze assured Althin—and he had. He had been the one who brought Chirrut out of danger following the explosion, shielding him with his very own body, suffering for it. 

“How long have you been with the Alliance?” Chirrut asked him. 

“Nearly two standard years now,” Althin said, putting down Chirrut’s hand, then sitting next to him when the man patted his bedside. Baze went around to serve tea and guide Chirrut back to his pillows. “Some of us…were recruited.”

“Us?”

“Those of us who stayed with Miss Kaya,” the rodian explained. Chirrut accepted a cup from Baze. “The others found foster homes to take them in. We worked at Miss Kaya’s shop until the recruiter found us.”

“Where are they? Are they here?” Chirrut felt excited. 

“No, we got separated,” Althin said. But before Chirrut could worry, he explained quickly, “We all went to different bases of the Alliance throughout the galaxy. I’m the only one here in Yavin 4.”

“Then you must tell them Master Imwe and Master Malbus are here,” Chirrut said, then smiled. “It would be good to see them again.”

“No, _you_ have to tell them yourself! You and Master Malbus.” With the light bubbling in the Force, Althin bounced on Chirrut’s bed, suddenly brimming with positive energy. “You could even go to the other bases yourself to meet them.”

“Go?” Baze asked carefully, and that was when Chirrut understood Althin’s mind. 

“There could be any number of reasons for Alliance fighters to visit the other sites. You _will_ stay with the Alliance, won’t you?” That question had been directed to Baze. Althin shifted, the bed groaning quietly, and asked Chirrut this time. “Won’t you?”

He traced the rim of the steel cup between his hands with his thumb. Looking up to Althin, Chirrut smiled.

❖

“Will you?”

The silence felt so comfortable between them, but the question weighed too heavily for his liking. The tea had gone cold but Chirrut could still pick out its fragrance folded between the room’s manufactured air. It did little to ease his thoughts, though. 

He and Althin had spoken of nothing but happy times, though there were so few of them, but since he’d left, Chirrut could not bring his smile and his shoulders back up. He accepted another cup of tea from Baze when it was offered, but his appetite for the strange drink had lasted only until the first sip. Now it was just a toy between his fingers, something for him to keep turning, just to have something to do. 

He raised his chin, and exhaled a great sigh. He felt Baze shift on the bed next to his. “The last time we joined a rebellion,” Chirrut began, “the price we paid had been far greater than what we had ever imagined. We are lucky to escape this time with our lives. With nothing but some new scars to speak of.” 

Baze said nothing. From his side of the room, Chirrut could tell that he was watching him carefully, waiting for his next move. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was only to recite the mantra that had once carried him from the bunker to the master switch in the beaches on Scarif. At that time, he’d needed it for the strength to do what must be done. Now, in this peaceful moment, with Baze by his side, both of them forgotten by the galaxy beyond their walls… 

He sighed. He shouldn’t have needed that same prayer at this hour. If only it didn’t find him at a crossroads… 

“What are you thinking,” he started to ask, turning to the man beside him, “Baze Malbus?”

He felt like a rock stirring awake, like one of those figures carved into the faces of the canyons of home. “I think,” Baze began, his voice as deep as if it came from the bottom of the planet, but soothing like calm waters, “that if this would have been for Jedha, I would have already signed up for the call to arms.”

“Call to arms?”

“That’s what they’re calling it. News of our victory has spread out to the neighboring star systems and the Alliance wants to take advantage of that by reassembling their occupied forces. And in the process, possibly recruit some new fighters. I think they are preparing for something bigger.”

“And how did you know of all of this?”

“Captain Andor had asked me to join.”

That brought Chirrut out of his pillows, sitting upright. “Captain Andor? He is going?”

“I was under that impression.”

“But…” Chirrut’s brows furrowed tightly. He frowned. “His condition is critical.”

“I heard from Bodhi Rook that he had spent day and night in a bacta tank as soon as he could stay conscious.”

“And is that…good?”

Baze paused for a pregnant second, then said, “I was under the impression that it was not the best practice.”

Chirrut sighed, stirring back to his set of pillows, slumping slightly. “Who else is going?”

“Bodhi Rook, and Jyn Erso.”

Now he couldn’t take it. Chirrut squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “They need time to grieve!”

“But _who_ has time for the past these days?” Baze rose, setting his tea cup on his bedside table before he came to perch on the edge of Chirrut’s bed. Chirrut did not need his guiding hand to rest his head on his shoulder but it was there anyway. “The candle we lit may be bright but it is small. If we stop to breathe for one second, the Empire’s shadows will find a way to squash it, and we will all be in darkness again.”

That was the sad truth. The sad state of things but Chirrut couldn’t help but hope that others might pick up the mantle after them—or that they would allow the Alliance to help in this part. Cassian, Bodhi, Jyn, they’d all been battered by the fight on Scarif and had barely recovered from it yet—but what was the pain of physical injury to the pain of the heart? They had all lost families and friends, the only ones they ever knew, even Baze and Chirrut—but as Chirrut knew, action was always more preferable to memories. Sometimes, the best revenge was to fight so that others no longer felt your suffering. 

“And why did you not go?” Chirrut asked. “There was a time when you would have signed up before everyone else.”

“There was a time when I was younger,” Baze said, his hand falling on Chirrut’s braced shoulder, “and NiJedha was still there.” He could tell that Baze was frustrated with his bonds, which kept his fingers from kneading his shoulder which he might have wanted to do. “But times have changed since. We are older now, and NiJedha is no more. Also, we managed to punch a pretty big hole on the Empire’s pride.”

“And that satisfies you?” Chirrut chuckled. 

“For now.”

Chirrut shook his head, smiling slightly. He reached back over Baze’s neck and pulled down the length of his long hair, once bound in two leather bands, now stitched in a single clean braid. So much had changed indeed. Baze had been wearing his hair in this manner since after Scarif and he knew he would stick with it now because it worked for him. Chirrut would miss the old style, but he would have to say goodbye to it along with the uneti stick he’d lost in the battlefield—and the last sliver of Kyber Crystal he had ever possessed. “So what did you tell Captain Andor?” he asked. 

“That I cannot leave you while you are still recovering. I also told him that you need me by your side.”

Chirrut laughed. 

“Captain Andor was the one who brought Althin to me,” Baze continued after a moment. And then after another, longer pause, “Althin…is going with them to the mission.”

Chirrut should no longer be surprised, but it was still a blow he didn’t expect. His fingers played on with the tail of Baze’s plait, and that was all he did for a long minute. 

“How did he look like?” he asked after. There was a little crack in his voice. 

“Proud,” Baze said. “Tall. Like a man. He looked handsome in his flight suit.”

Chirrut nodded. “So he found something that he wants to do,” he said, voice quiet lest he put a tear in the fabric of silence in the room. “When you told me they should leave…did you ever expect that this would happen?”

“I never even imagined it,” Baze told him, moving his fingers to the crook of Chirrut’s neck, so his thumb could trace little strokes on the corner of his jaw. “I had expected that the day they left was going to be the last we saw of them.”

“But the Force has different plans, as always,” Chirrut said. “When we last saw them, they were just orphaned children and now…” He shook his head. “They are fighting for the Alliance.”

“The galaxy.”

“The galaxy,” Chirrut repeated after him, nodding, a small smile on his face. One might have looked at him and seen a proud parent—and perhaps, he must be, for what they had inspired in these children.

But a proud parent wouldn’t frown, and wouldn’t sigh like there was poison in his system—and perhaps there was. Guilt. Fear. Sorrow. Weakness. How ironic that Baze and Chirrut had only ever wanted what was best for the children—but somehow that always seemed to make things worse. The first had been Saw Gerrera. Now, they were bringing the children to war themselves. “I cannot stop,” Chirrut exhaled wearily, “for as long as Althin and the children, and Jyn and Cassian and Bodhi are out there fighting for us.”

“Nor I,” Baze said to him, moving his hand to the back of Chirrut’s neck.

“Jedha must be the last,” Chirrut added. Baze didn’t reply, but he didn’t need him to. The silence spoke louder than any of his words or actions could, and he could not blame him for not having the power to make his thoughts plainer through them. In the past, Chirrut might have been consoled by the hesitation that Baze now displayed on joining the rebellion—but now, he couldn’t find any relief in it. It brought him no joy or ease at all that Baze’s hand was being forced against his will. Again. 

He laid his hand on Baze’s farthest thigh and clapped him twice. “Get some rest, Baze. We will be needed soon.” It was with a heavy heart and a heavy soul that he had spoken those words, but he wouldn’t fight the will of the Force any longer—if this truly was its will. And he hoped that it really was. He did cheer up a little when Baze drew him closer to his chest with one hand just so he could press his lips on his hair before he rose. He took the cold tea cup in Chirrut’s hand with him and set it on the nightstand between their beds, limping as he went.

Chirrut listened to Baze’s bulk sprawl across his bed, and then the sigh of relief that came after. He would be snoring soon, he knew, soft cat-like purrs that seemed both to match and differ from his heavy form, but Chirrut found it soothing.

And if there was anything he needed right now, it was to be soothed from his very own mind. He slipped a little lower in his bed and nestled his head against the set of pillows on his back. He looked out into nothingness—and for one of the rarest times, he was glad he saw nothing.

It made it easier to clear his thoughts, though they weighed as heavily as the entire galaxy itself, and fall deeply into meditation. He knew this would be one of the last few opportunities the galaxy would give him for it. Chirrut would not let it go to waste.


End file.
